I noticed this evening, as we drove home, that the jacaranda trees are coming into bloom in our neighbourhood. Their presence with that particularly perfect shade of purple which I’ve written about before, adds a wonderful splash of colour to the streets around Los Angeles at this time of year
I breathed a quiet sigh of relief this morning. The day dawned grey and cool with a hint of drizzle on the air. We’ve had a string of particularly hot days where our air conditioning has been running day and night. We’ve all resembled wilting flowers more than anything else and the walls of our lovely house have seemed about to close in on us from all directions at times.
Recently, I’ve been spending time gazing out of the window. I have a favourite chair, a white chaise longue that we bought in the early days of our Manhattan life. Whenever and wherever we move, I always make sure that it sits in comfort by the bedroom window.
We went walking today through a fizzy Friday afternoon. A light breeze blew mischievously around my husband and I as we strolled with the dog- me with my thoughts and he in a walking work meeting; one of those scenes we find ourselves in quite frequently now.
It rained for hours on Sunday. I took more than one solitary walk, quietly happy as the rain fell in a cocoon around me and I listened. Listened carefully as the memories of other rainy days echoed through streets now silent and deserted.
It’s been one of the strangest weeks that I can remember. One by one various aspects of our daily life have simply floated away on the breeze until we are left as we are now, amidst a shrunken landscape which seemed to have closed its shutters around us all.
There’s a sweet little preschool on our street just a few doors down from our house. Called Happyland it has a brightly painted gate and I often happen to be out and about with the dog at drop off and pick up time. Duke adores children and he enjoys walking past the school or sniffing nearby and saying the odd hello when parents ask if their child can pet him.
‘Rage: Sing, Goddess, Achilles’ rage,
Black and murderous, that cost the Greeks
Incalculable pain, pitched countless souls
Of heroes into Hades’ dark,
And left their bodies to rot as feasts
For dogs and birds, as Zeus’ will was done.’
Rough winds and frigid temperatures blew into Los Angeles last night hard on the heels of a heatwave. We were woken suddenly from slumber at midnight by the banging of a loose door on our roof terrace. Comically large palm tree branches festooned the streets this morning as we drove to school
In my wanderings around our new neighborhood I’ve found a lovely spot for contemplation. The Culver Hotel built in 1924 is a wedge shaped Art Deco building which reminds me of the Flatiron Building in Madison Square Park in Manhattan, although their architectural styles are different. It stands in the middle of the bustling downtown area and has a charmingly leafy patio which whispers of long lunches and intricate conversations.
We’ve been swept up in a whirlwind of change these past few weeks. As the old year rolled without pause into the new we packed up our apartment in Brentwood and moved across town to the home we recently purchased in Culver City. We have been busy ever since with the work of unpacking our life into a new abode and the experience of dwelling alongside more boxes than we cares to count.
There are rumblings of change in our existence here which have grown loud enough to be considered imminent in the last few days. Packing boxes and tape are stacked up by the front door and it looks like our dog will have a new park to explore very soon. I awoke this morning to that familiar feeling of a fresh beginning waiting impatiently in the wings for the next act while the stage sets of scenes gone by are removed.
